


I Don't, But I Might

by actualgarbage



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Tumblr Prompt, wedding au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:56:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3556874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualgarbage/pseuds/actualgarbage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Please, Bellamy. I’m begging you.”<br/>“Why would I come pick you up? I wasn’t even invited.”<br/>“You know I had no say in the planning.”<br/>“You don’t even like me”<br/>“Well maybe right now I don’t feel like being around anyone I DO like.”<br/>“Fine, Princess. I’ll be there in 5.”<br/>“I’ll be by the back door,” Clarke paused before hitting the end button. “And don’t call me princess.”<br/>“Whatever, Princess.”<br/>The line went dead and Clarke forced herself to take three deep breaths before she did anything else.<br/>It’s not like her world was ending as she knew it.<br/>It was only her wedding day.<br/>She just happened to be breaking off her engagement to the perfect man about an hour before the ceremony. No big deal.<br/>Based on the Tumblr Prompt: I’m a runaway bride/groom and you’re driving my getaway car</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Can Hear it in the Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the Tumblr Prompt: I’m a runaway bride/groom and you’re driving my getaway car

 

“ _Please_ , Bellamy. I’m begging you.”

“Why would I come pick you up? I wasn’t even invited.”

“You know I had no say in the planning.”

“You don’t even like me”

“Well maybe right now I don’t feel like being around anyone I DO like.”

“Fine, Princess. I’ll be there in 5.”

“I’ll be by the back door,” Clarke paused before hitting the end button. “And don’t call me princess.”

“Whatever, Princess.”

The line went dead and Clarke forced herself to take three deep breaths before she did anything else.

It’s not like her world was ending as she knew it.

It was only her wedding day.

She just happened to be breaking off her engagement to the perfect man about an hour before the ceremony. No big deal.

Okay. Maybe it was a kind of big deal

Wells Jaha and Clarke Griffin had been “destined to be together” for pretty much their entire lives. It was your typical story of childhood best friends who fell in love, only they hadn’t.

They were getting married because it made sense, because Abby and Thelonious forced them, because it was  _meant to be_.

but they weren’t getting married anymore and Clarke didn’t know what to do. 

She’d gone to see him a few minutes earlier (it didn’t really matter if the groom saw the bride if she was halfway in tears and calling off the ceremony, did it?) and he’d been almost as relieved as she had.

Sure, they loved one another- but it wasn’t the kind of love that kept you up daydreaming, the kind of love that made your blood feel like fire, the kind of love that left you wanting only more and more.

Wells and Clarke had a safe love and they both knew that it was lacking, so it was on friendly terms that they’d agreed to part ways. 

That didn’t explain why Clarke was currently hiding in a supply closet in the back of a church waiting four more minutes before she could slip out the back door and get into Bellamy’s car.

She’d drive herself, but there was no way she could have called off the worst mistake of her life without a little alcohol in her system- not enough for her to be drunk, but there’s a reason they call it liquid courage.

So there she was, a little bit tipsy in a supply closet wearing a dress she no longer had use for while she hid from her bridesmaids and more importantly, her mother.

Abby had been dead-set on the way Clarke’s life was supposed to unfold. Abby had done absolutely everything she could to ensure that her daughter would grow up with a white picket fence and a perfect life. She’d gone to the best schools and had a perfect GPA- hell, she was even prom queen her senior year. She’d done Harvard pre-med and was taking a gap year to work with a non-profit she’d gotten involved with before she went to med school. To say that Clarke’s life was anything other than picture perfect from the outside would be a flat out lie, and Abby had made sure of that.

It actually made sense that she would be called Princess.

However Abby didn’t take into consideration the things life wouldn’t allow her to control- like her husband dying, or her daughter not following the plan she’d so carefully drafted for her future. Abby couldn’t force Clarke and Wells to love each other, but that didn’t stop her from trying to.

Which explains why Clarke felt the need to hide in the supply closet. If her mother found her, Abby would be livid. And Clarke, well, Clarke would probably start crying and would potentially cave. No one wanted that.

She was going to run away. Unfortunately, she didn’t exactly have anywhere to go, hence the call to a certain Blake she’d just made.

Clarke fidgeted with her hands and paced the three feet of available space in the room, each time having to sweep the billowing satin skirt out from under her before she could pivot and walk the other direction.

Bellamy was really the only person she _could_  call. everyone else she knew was waiting in the chapel and she wasn’t sure they’d understand.

Wells had been an angel to offer to tell everyone they were calling it off. she might not want to spend the rest of her life as Clarke Jaha, but she held him in the highest regard. They balanced each other out- he was confident when she could only feign a smile, she was level-headed when he was ready to lose it. She let out a subconscious smile at the thought of him while she paced.

It was really a shame they weren’t in love. A damn shame, truly.

Clarke checked her phone again. She’d ended her call with Bellamy three minutes ago.

She didn’t want to think about why she’d called  _him_  specifically.He’d said that she didn’t even like him but they both knew that had stopped being true a long time ago. They weren’t friends, but somewhere in the 6 years they’d known each other their initial hatred had changed to respect and then quickly snowballed into more- feelings Clarke wasn’t sure she was comfortable naming.

Four minutes ago.

Octavia- Bellamy’s younger sister, had been the thing that bridged the gap between them initially. Clarke had found her at a frat party slumped against the wall and drunk off her ass. She couldn’t find an ID or anyone at the party who knew her so she’d taken O back to her dorm and let her sleep it off out of harm’s way. The two had been friends ever since Octavia had woken up and confessed she’d snuck into the party (she was still in high school) and Clarke had made up a story to tell Bellamy when she drove O home. She was still pretty sure Bell had seen right through it, but he’d never mentioned it.

Octavia was probably waiting for her right now in one of those hideous pink dresses Abby had chosen. Clarke figured Octavia might understand why she was calling the wedding off. She’d always been one to dream of a perfect fairy tale ending (Clarke- not so much), but for some reason she’d called the other Blake. She told herself that it was only because she didn’t want to hear “I told you so”.

Bellamy would never dream of saying that to her at this point in their relationship. He always had an incredible understanding of her decisions.  He knew why she tried so hard to please her mother, he knew why she busted her ass to get her degree that she wasn’t sure she even wanted, he knew why she’d been getting married in the first place. He’d always be the first to call her on it- but never,  _never_  would he judge her.

The agreed upon five minutes were up now. She took another deep breath before facing the door. It creaked open as she peered out to check if the coast was clear. She turned off the light behind her and made to slip out of the closet which would admittedly be easier if she weren’t dragging an insane amount of white fabric along behind her. Fortunately, no one was in the corridor and she was able to escape to the back door or the church.

Again she forced herself to breathe before she pushed it open.

And there he was. just like always he’d show up when she needed him.

Bellamy was rummaging around in the trunk of his car (probably moving all of the junk he kept in his passenger seat so she’d be comfortable. Always so annoyingly thoughtful).

“Typical that the princess would make her carriage wait-” He started but when he looked up, the rest of whatever witty remark he’d planned left him. She looked every bit like the princess he knew she was. Her hair was curled and tucked into a gold headband that was made to look like a crown of laurels. The dress she wore put Cinderella to shame.

Bellamy was pretty good with words, but the only one he could think of to describe her at the moment was  _radiant_.

“Clarke,” his voice was almost a whisper but she still managed to hear it from her spot at the top of the steps. His mouth hung open a little bit and she pushed away the warm feeling that was anchored in her chest at the way he was looking at her with those stupid, overly expressive eyes of his. 

“You- wow.” He stared for a few more seconds, rooted to the spot he was standing in before he slowly started walking towards her.

She ducked her head so she could watch where she place her feet to descend the stairs. Bellamy’s hand shot into her line of vision. She took it and let him help her down.

At the bottom of the stairs their eyes finally met, and it took everything Clarke had to be able to whisper “We should get going,” and let him guide her towards the passenger side of the car.

She gathered the skirt of the dress and let him close the door behind her. After he’d walked around and shut the trunk, he looked at her from the driver’s seat.

“Where to?” He asked tentatively.

“I- um. I hadn’t really thought about it.” she couldn’t go back to her own apartment. She was positive that was the first place Abby would storm in search of her. Clarke would face her mother eventually, but she didn’t want to have to deal with that in the immediate future. Putting it off seemed like a good option for now.

Bellamy nodded at her and backed the car out of its spot. She figured he’d thought through the escape process more in the past few moments than she had.

Unsurprisingly he said “You can stay with me as long as you need.”

“Bellamy you don’t need to-”

“I know I don’t. But where else are you gonna go?” He interrupted.

Clarke stayed silent at that. 

“It’s no trouble, so don’t think that you’re inconveniencing me or anything.” He rightfully guessed that that was where her reservations about his offer were rooted. He knew her too well.

“Thank you,” She said clearly but softly.

“Anytime, Princess.” He replied, matching her tone.

He took one hand off the steering wheel and reached over to grab her had from her lap.

It was the first time in a while that she didn’t have to tell herself to breathe.

 

 

 


	2. You Can Hear it on the Way Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much to everyone who has commented and left kudos. If I hadn't had the overwhelming response that I got, I wouldn't have continued writing this. It was intended to just be a oneshot, but I had so many people ask me to continue it that I couldn't just leave it! So, without further ado, back by popular demand, here's part two.

“Anytime, Princess,” he said to her and he wasn’t sure she understood really what he meant by it. It’s more than just an “I’ll give you a ride because god knows you’ll get yourself into another messed up situation like this,” and it’s more, even, than an assurance that he’ll always be there for her.

It’s just more. He wasn’t sure how to word it right (Clarke always seemed to take away his knack for the English language and he hated it), but for now he’d just label it as _more_ and hold her hand for the rest of the ride back to his place.

Bellamy thought that he shouldn’t be quite as relaxed as he is considering the circumstances.

He was relieved, of course. He never wanted Clarke to marry Jaha-only because he knew she wouldn’t be happy. There isn’t any other reason (he _swears_ there’s not). In fact, he rather likes Wells. They’d started out hating each other (Sometimes he forgot that it was same way with Clarke, too) but once they’d moved past it their relationship had become amicable. There had always been a strain in the relationship, though.

Clarke was, to put it lightly, _important_ to both of them. Wells of course had loved her enough to take her to the altar (almost). Bellamy wasn’t sure how much he cared about her, but he had actively avoided putting thought into the matter.

It was Wells, actually, who had first figured out that Bellamy felt something about (for?) her. The two had met two years into him knowing Clarke and it hadn’t gone well. They’d been civil in front of her but when she and Octavia went into the kitchen to chat over glasses of wine; the air in the living room had become dense with blatant hostility. The small talk was short and responses were snapped from both parties.

That pattern of cold exchanges continued for several months before Wells finally broke. Clarke kept bringing Wells over to the Blake’s house; kept forcing them all to come together because she “wanted all of the important people in her life to get along”. Bellamy thought for a while that she meant just Octavia with him as an extension, but in retrospect he knew otherwise.

It had happened when the couple had come over for lunch and Clarke and Octavia decided to go shopping and “leave our men to hold down the fort,” as Octavia had yelled that as she ran out the door. Clarke had lingered a few more minutes tidying up the Blake’s kitchen (Bellamy had already cleaned it but she liked things organized a certain way) before she went to follow Octavia to the car. She’d said a hasty goodbye to which the men had responded, but once the two were alone, the expression he’d found on Wells’ face wasn’t what it usually was. Something in the way Bellamy had stared after Clarke when she left must have let Wells know, and Wells told him as much.

Their issues were settled with a “You don’t hate her, really, do you,” and it wasn’t a question.

Of course it wasn’t like they were skipping off into the sunset arm in arm after that, but they had something in common then. It led to a tentative understanding between the two, and with Clarke forcing them to spend time together so often, they decided to make the best of it.

Bellamy idly wondered on the drive with Wells bride-no-longer-to-be in his passenger seat if he and Wells would become less hesitant friends now that the conflict in their relationship had finally come to head, but that thought was fleeting in comparison to the ones that Clarke filled.

It had been like that a lot for him, lately. More often than not, she was somewhere on his mind- a fact that he had deliberately tried to ignore. She was supposed to get married to Wells and it was supposed to be perfect. That’s just the way things were.

It was fairly obvious that their engagement was more strategy than anything else. Bellamy had never doubted that Clarke loved Wells, but he knew it wasn’t in the way everyone wanted her to. She felt obligated to keep up appearances though; like it was her responsibility to fit into this mold her mother had made.

If there was one thing Bellamy understood, it was family responsibility. That’s why he had never questioned the relationship, never voiced his protest. He remembers when she told him about the engagement. She’d come by his (just his, now. He’d moved since Octavia had gotten married) apartment to tell him.

He’d seen that she wasn’t grinning the way Octavia had been. Not the way Jasper and Maya were.

She wasn’t grinning at all.

He had answered the door to find a solemn expression and a heavy silence.

Clarke told him about the proposal over bourbon and he’d responded with a slow nod. Bellamy didn’t say he was happy for her- they’d agreed never to lie to one another too long ago. She didn’t smile (he almost wishes she had. Maybe that would have made it easier somehow.) as she got up to leave. She had just taken the bourbon glasses into the kitchen silently while he sat on the couch. He sat with his arms on his knees and tried to keep staring at the floor until after she’d left. But of course she had to trip on the way to the sink so he’d run in and find her sitting in the floor trying to look upset. And of course they’d ended up laughing like children- because it came easily to them.

Bellamy had marveled at the way her hair shined as she tossed her head back, the way her eyes lit up, the way the laughter spilled out of her so naturally. She looked like what Bellamy thought heaven might.

His hand stretched out to pull her to her feet. It was after they were standing, still trying to get their breathing under control, their hands still clasped when they remembered. The band with the diamond pressing into his palm was cold. Bellamy dropped her hand and his smile changed to a different one. Clarke’s matched his.

He bent down and picked up the glasses from the floor (thank God they hadn’t broken) and placed them on the counter. Clarke was staring at him blankly when he turned back to her. Slowly she rose to her tiptoes with a hand on his jaw. The kiss was still burning on his cheek after she’d swiftly grabbed her purse and left his apartment.

When he looked over at her at a red light, their hands once again pressed together (no ring between them this time) his mind returned to that day. That was the last time things had felt easy between them. Bellamy didn’t want to get ahead of himself, but the air between them already felt a little lighter than it had before.

Clarke caught his gaze and gave his hand a squeeze. Bellamy thought she looked less burdened and he was glad.

The light turned green and he kept his eyes forward until he pulled into a spot in the parking garage below his building. He wanted to make a remark about how great he was for being able to park with one hand, but the silence felt too comfortable for him to ruin it with something stupid. Even if it _would_ be worth it to see the way she’d smile as she rolled her eyes at him.

He got out of the car to go help her get out, but of course she had gotten out just as fast as he had. She hated accepting help anyways, so he wasn’t surprised. Side by side they walked to the elevator doors, which slid open as soon as Bellamy pressed the button. On the ride up to his floor he tried to focus on something other than how much she looked like a greek goddess so he intentionally took his time rummaging through his pockets for keys.

Floor nine is announced with a ding and the not-couple exits the lift. Clarke followed him and let him unlock the door. She shut it behind her.

Bellamy instantly moved to clear the case notes he’d been poring over (before she’d called and he’d dropped everything without hesitation) off of his coffee table. He knew Clarke didn’t care about the mess he was bent over, but he needed something to do with his hands to keep him calm. He heard the swishing of her dress when she moved to stand next to him and the couch.

He gathered the remaining stacks of paper with his law office’s name neatly printed on the corner of each page and stood up straight. Clarke looked at him and gave him a slow smile that somehow stopped his heart and made it beat faster at the same time.

She reached halfway behind her to where she’d bent her leg behind her and removed her golden heels, one at a time, all the while her eyes stayed locked on his.

Bellamy was slightly impressed at the way she held her balance because he was starting to feel a little shaky even with both feet on the ground. It was hard not to with the way she was looking up at him. He really meant, _up_ , too. Sometimes he forgot there was a height difference.

Bellamy wants nothing more in that moment than to pull her to his chest with her face pressed into his shoulder and his arms around her waist, but he’s not sure what the rules are with her anymore and the files needed to be put back in his briefcase on the kitchen table. So he doesn’t. Moving around his apartment methodically is easier than thinking about what the rules with Clarke were, anyways. It’s an avoidance tactic he’s mastered at this point. He’s sure she knows what it is, but at this point it’s routine.

The comfortable silence was becoming too much for Bellamy to bear.

“I’ll set up the guest room for you,” he said to break it. He didn’t add the “make yourself at home” to the end of that because it’s implied. It occurred to him that with her there, it felt a hell of a lot more like home to him than it had in a while, but again, he brushed the thought away.

He tried to, at least.

He went down the short hall and went into his own room, first. Bellamy only allowed himself a second to sit on the edge of his bed and run his hand through his hair because _what the hell is even going on_. Clarke was in his apartment in a wedding dress.

He shook himself out of it and moved to get clothes for her to change into. He almost didn’t want to. He was afraid that the only thing worse for him than seeing her look like she does now was seeing her in one of his shirts. Bellamy grabbed her favorite one off the hanger, anyways. He grabbed some sweatpants, too, and then ducked quickly into door next to his bedroom’s.

Octavia had designed the room, but the pale blue she’d chosen for the walls because it was “soothing,” still wasn’t enough to calm his heart. He’d been so relaxed on the drive to get Clarke. He’d even been okay on the way back to his apartment. With her standing just a few walls over, though, Bellamy had no plan past rescuing her and no clue how to handle himself with her in his apartment for the foreseeable future.

He would just wing it. He was a lawyer for pete’s sake. Bellamy got paid to think on his feet.

The first thing he did was text wells.

**_Clarke is okay. She’s going to stay with me for a few days. Thought you should know._ **

Wells had enough common sense not to tell anyone else where she was. Clarke needed space with things like this. Bellamy made sure everything in the room was set up for her in the room and went back out to the living room to find it unoccupied. There was a breeze, though.

Clarke was on his balcony facing the city and the September sunset and Bellamy had no choice but to stare. He never had any choice when it came to Clarke. He would do anything for her; it just made sense to him.

Fading light was glinting off of her laurel crown and making her hair shine like gold. Her shoulders were relaxed as she leaned on the railing and he could see the scar on her spine that she hated talking about peeking over where the dress stopped.

He was completely in awe of her.

Bellamy stared for too long, but didn’t look away even when she felt his presence and turned to face him. He must have had a funny look (adoration) on his face because her expression turned quizzical after a few beats.

“What?” Clarke asked softly.

“You look so beautiful, Clarke.” He said it softly but with not a trace of hesitance in his voice. “Whenever you decide who Mr. Griffin is really going to be, the poor sucker’s not gonna know what hit him.”

They both just stared. He couldn’t read her expression very well, but he was almost positive he was an open book.

Bellamy cleared his throat and finally looked down.

“I think we both deserve a drink.” He found the nerve to look back up again as he walked backwards towards the kitchen. “There are some other clothes in the room, if you want.”

Clarke nodded at him then. He smiled and she mirrored it.

Bellamy turned around and got the bourbon from the kitchen cabinet. She was in the guest room by the time he got back onto the balcony. He was glad that Octavia had talked him into getting the wicker couch for the patio on nights like this. The sky looked amazing and Bellamy smiled a little, because at least Clarke chose a beautiful night to not get married on.

Bellamy’s phone buzzed and Wells had sent him a reply.

**_Thank you for taking care of her. I’m glad it was you._ **

He poured two glasses for them and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts??? Feelings??? Comments???  
> I live for feedback.  
> (There will be at least one more part to this)  
> you guys are the real MVPs.  
> XOXO  
> EDIT:3/25/15  
> I went back and found out that I'd mixed up some of the tenses towards the end of the chapter so if y'all catch anymore errors like that just let me know. I hate editing my own stuff, so I don't usually catch that kind of thing.  
> Thanks, cuties!  
> XOXO


	3. You Can See it With the Lights Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been months and I'm sorry

Clarke watched Bellamy turn around and walk into his kitchen. _Bourbon_ , she figured. He knew it was her favorite. He knew a lot about her, actually. More than anyone did (except Wells, maybe). The thought scared her.

It wasn’t the fact that he knew so much that scared her, but it was _how_ he knew it. The fact that Bellamy had such an almost supernatural understanding of her that did Clarke in. Half of the conversations the pair had were silent. It had gotten to the point where their friends got a little freaked out when they could correctly answer questions for one another with only a glance of discussion beforehand. Jasper swore up and down that once he had his doctorate and adequate funding he was researching their brains. Monty usually muttered something about ESP with an awed (and maybe slightly terrified) look on his face.

So maybe Bellamy and Clarke had an uncanny knack for understanding one another- but it definitely didn’t mean anything. At this point though, Clarke wasn’t sure she had to tell herself that anymore.

She needed time, that’s for sure, but still it wouldn’t hurt that much if she let herself consider theoreticals, would it?

Clarke moved from the balcony to the guest room with a stealth she didn’t know she could manage in a dress of that size. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to be quiet, but something about the atmosphere in the apartment felt fragile and she wasn’t going to be the one to ruin it.

Inside the room she found herself slightly reluctant to take the dress off. The floor length mirror in the corner didn’t lie when it showed how elegant she looked. The skirt was satin with floral embroidery that started at the hem and wound up and around the flowing fabric like golden vines. The bodice, too, was embroidered and was so tightly shaped it looked like it could have been a torture device. Clarke had rolled her eyes when Raven had pulled it for her thinking it would require a corset or something awful like that, but her friend had forced her into it anyways and told her just to “trust my judgement for _once_ , Clarke. I know what looks good and I promise it’ll fit you great. Have a little faith.” Raven had been right, of course, and not only did it fit, but it was shockingly comfortable. There hadn’t been any need to try on other dresses at that point.

As she looked in the mirror now, though, Clarke felt a little disappointed that she hadn’t gotten to feel the swish of the fabric around her ankles as she walked down the aisle. The dress deserved to be seen. Maybe she could wear it someday. It wouldn’t be too strange to keep the dress even though she wasn’t keeping the ring, she thought. It wasn’t like they hadn’t parted as friends- no one had been hurt, no one would be bitter, no one had cheated.

It was by all means the smoothest breakup Clarke had ever been through. It was probably the most costly, too. Christ, Abby would be furious. She probably knew already.  Clarke’s inbox would certainly be full when she decided she could manage turning her phone back on. She was thankful that Bellamy was providing her refuge because there was no earthly way she could face that level of wrath right now.

Clarke sighed and got to work undoing the gown. Fortunately there was a zipper on the side- the line of buttons that ran up the back was just for show, thank goodness. She would have been stuck otherwise, and if she had actually gotten married, having assistance removing her dress would have been ideal, but she didn’t want to face the embarrassment of asking for help in her current situation.

She really didn’t like asking for help in any situation. It was perhaps a character flaw, but she had been fiercely independent for so long, she wasn’t sure _how_ to ask for help anymore. She had stretched herself enough asking Bellamy to come rescue her- that was enough to fill her assistance quota for a lifetime.

She finished slipping out of the dress and laid it out smoothly on the bed. Left in boyshorts and a lacy bra, Clarke found herself looking in the mirror again. Her lingerie choice for her wedding night should have said enough about her enthusiasm for the wedding.  It wasn’t exactly the usual selection for a bride.

It was abundantly clear to her as she slipped Bellamy’s flannel over her shoulders and began buttoning it that getting out of her relationship was the best thing she’d done in years. That thought had nothing to do with the fact that it was her favorite shirt that Bellamy owned (yes, she knew it wasn’t normal to have favorites when it came to such a strictly platonic engagement) and that it smelled like him. The relief of guaranteeing herself new freedom made her heart soar.

The sweatpants she left on the bed- they were too long, too warm for September, and the shirt came down to her mid-thigh anyways. When she left the guest room, Bellamy was already back on the balcony.

She reached him and sat quietly next to him, accepting the glass of bronze liquid he slid towards her. The silence was heavy and relaxing.

Again she was overwhelmed with a sense of fragility in the atmosphere around them. There was an undeniable tension with them- there had always been. This time though, it was clear there was more to it so she sat and waited, still unwilling to break it.

Several moments passed like this and the sun was completely over the horizon when he spoke.

“Clarke,” he started and she knew him _so well_ she didn’t even need to let him finish to see where the conversation was headed. She could feel it in the way his shoulders had moved forward; the way his back was held taut and his jaw was clenched in a way that made his veins pop and her blood feel like fire. His voice was strained almost- rough and quiet.

“Clarke, why wasn’t I invited,” Bellamy was staring at his hands that were clenched a little too tightly around his glass. Clarke was staring at them, too. It was easier than facing him.

“We’ve been over this, Bellamy. You know that I didn’t have a say in anything. She made the-“

“You’re not answering my question, dammit.” He snapped. “I know who, I just wanna know _why_. I wanted to be there, even if you were marrying the wrong man. I’ll _always_ want to be there. So _why the hell wasn’t I_?”

Bellamy was staring intensely at her now and she couldn’t breathe anymore.

“You _know_ why,” and it was a whisper but at this point it was all she could fucking manage. Her hands were shaking, stirring the bourbon.

His gaze still wasn’t wavering. Her own gaze finally met those stupid eyes that gave him away.

“Clarke,” her name a plea now from his lips. She was tired of hearing him say her name because she hated the way it sounded too close to another thing she wasn’t ready to hear. She hated the way that her eyes were betraying her and starting to pool with tears. She hated the way his were close to doing the same.

Clarke hated this.

The conversation, the charged air (the fragility long gone) between them, the way he was looking at her, _him._

God, she hated him so much.

 _No. no you don’t_.

But wouldn’t it be so much easier if she _did?_

She knew she was staring at him, her eyes glassy, mouth slightly agape with an unformed response waiting to manifest itself.

There was a loud crash that snapped the moment in half.

“Shit, Clarke,” Bellamy’s intensity lent itself immediately to panicked concern.

“What?” She barely managed to stutter in return, her heart still not fully recovered from their dialogue.

“Your leg,” He gaped. “Jesus, are you okay?”

Something clicked in Clarke’s mind and it occurred to her that the bourbon glass was no longer in her hands but in shards by her bare feet. Her hands must have been shaking more than she thought.

Around that time the pain also seemed to kick in- alcohol with glass cuts wasn’t exactly a pleasant sensation. Without hesitation, Bellamy had scooped her up bridal style (and here Clarke had thought she wouldn’t be carried over a threshold tonight) and rushed her through the apartment and into the master bathroom. He set her gently on the counter and banged around in the cabinets swearing. He came back into her sight with a first aid kit.

Still half in shock, she let him look at the gashes- there were only two big cuts (on her left leg, it was a miracle there weren’t more and that she didn’t need stitches) while she sat in a stupor.

Gently he cleaned her off and bandaged the wounds as she watched him move. Her mind felt blank and the only thing keeping her slightly anchored was ~~Bellamy~~ the dull, warm ache from the scratches.

She was brought back to earth when warm hands cupped her face. He was looking at her earnestly as he stroked his thumb over her cheekbones, wiping away the tears she didn’t even know had fallen.

“Clarke, talk to me. Are you okay?” His voice was low and almost desperate.

She nodded and relief flooded his eyes. He still held her face in his hands and they were caught again in a moment with stares that meant far too much and lasted far too long.

They had been happening more and more frequently in the past few years. She would catch him staring at her sadly at nights out with friends, they’d catch gazes over coffee, she saw glances where there should have been none. It was all very telling, but now there wasn’t the feeling of guilt tied in with the longing in his eyes. It was freeing for Clarke to see.

Clarke let out a shaky breath and he took a step back. His hands moved swiftly from her face to her hips and he helped her down from the counter. With his hand on the small of her back he led her out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.

“Oh, Clarke I missed a cut. Stay here,” he left her next to his bed and she felt the loss of the warmth where his hand had been covering nearly the whole span of her back.

Bellamy returned after a short moment with some gauze and rubbing alcohol. He guided her backwards to sit on the bed and held her leg gently as he cleaned and wrapped the wound. Clarke, finally out of her daze, watched the care and concern with which he helped her. Something swelled in her chest at it.

When he was finished and the first aid was set aside he sat next to her on the bed, making himself comfortable while pointedly looking straight ahead of him. This silence felt less weighty than the one before, almost as if letting Bellamy play protector set the two of them back on track with the familiarity of it. He was always there.

“Thank you,” she managed.

“You’re the doctor here,” his lips curved slightly upwards when he looked at her.

“No, I don’t mean for that,” she paused. “Well I mean yes, thank you for helping me when I needed medical attention,” they both let out breaths that were as close to laughter as the moment allowed. “I meant thank you in general for coming to get me, for letting me stay. I don’t know. Just thanks for being you and not someone else, I guess…” Clarke trailed off.

“Clarke, you don’t have to-“

“No I mean it, Bell,” she gave him a look that she hoped was as imploring as she felt she needed to be here. “I need you.”

Bellamy set his jaw, she watched as the muscle flexed and he looked down at his hands. Avoidance was always his strategy with these things. Always he would look away- just like he had when she’d said the words to him years earlier.

Jake had died and she was a little bit of a broken mess and trying her damndest not to be. It meant she was building walls like crazy. Clarke was cold and detached for weeks afterwards. Her friends were accordingly sympathetic, some tried smothering her with affection, others kept saying sorry asking if she wanted to talk. Bellamy took one look at her after he’d heard and knew she needed normalcy, so he’d continued on as if it were a regular day, not ignoring that the accident had happened but moving on in spite of it.

When time kept passing and Clarke was still distant she felt the worry of her friends in every conversation- but not from Bellamy. She was tired of pity. Bellamy was all she had whether he knew it or not.

It had been an evening full of particularly concerned looks from Jasper and Maya, one too many gentle hands on her shoulder as the friends left the Blake’s apartment where they had gathered when Clarke finally lost it. She excused herself to Octavia’s room to get her breathing back to what passed for normal in those days. He let her have three minutes before he went in after her.

He never once said I’m sorry, he had nothing to be sorry for. He just held her as they sat in the floor rocking back and forth for God knows how long until she finally stilled.

“Do you want me to go?” He had whispered into her hair.

“I need you,” she had whispered back in a moment of vulnerability. She had felt him nod and had gripped her tighter, staying with her until she had fallen asleep.

Clarke remembered the day with detailed clarity and looking at Bellamy now she knew he did too.

She put a hand on his back and leaned closer.

“I _still need you_ ,” she meant it with all of her heart.

It got him to look her in the eyes again.

There was a beat and then his arms were drawing her close and pulling them both down on the bed. She returned the embrace with all her might and the two of them lay there, not speaking because everything they said with their actions was loud enough to both of them.

_ineedyouineedyouineeedyoutoo._

Eventually they shifted and somehow ended up under the covers, still clinging to one another. It was innocent and felt like home- cliché as it might be. Clarke felt herself drifting quickly off to sleep, surrounded by Bellamy’s warmth, his face pressed into her neck, arms around her waist.

“I can’t lose you too,” she murmured, half asleep but meaning it none the less.

Clarke thought he must have been asleep already, but just before she slipped into dreams about freckles and strong hands there was a soft “you won’t.”

But it was probably just a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?? Feelings?? Comments??  
> I'm so sorry it took me so long to crank this out. It actually took me forcing one of my friends to watch the whole show to get me to do this. She read it and bugged me about finishing another chapter, so here it is. You'll be happy to hear that I have an actual outline for the rest of this story, so it shouldn't be month before another chapter which is good because I'm sure you all hate me for making you wait this long as it is- although I have written like four oneshots and taken on threeish new multichaps (the first chapter of one of them is already complete and will be up tomorrow). So I hope that was sort of enough to hold you over.  
> Anyways, let me know what you thought about this chapter and as always you can find me on [Tumblr](bellarkemorelikebaellarke.tumblr.com).  
> XOXO

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about the beginning of this, but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought in the comments if you want! I'm vain and I thrive off of compliments ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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